Sasha’s Dad (6 page)

Claire knew the story by heart. Intellectually she understood what had happened. Much of it hadn’t been personal, just part of a tough year in high school.

But Claire had still ended up with a broken heart.

A heart she’d come back to Dovetail to mend. She turned into her driveway and paused in front of the cottage that came with her property. She was going to use it as a shop, a place to sell her llama fiber. Like the farmhouse, the barn and this cottage, building her heart wasn’t going to happen without a lot of hard work.

“You’re too busy with school, dance and 4-H. And did I mention your dad has a job to do, as well?”

Sasha shot him one of her knowing smiles. When had she started doing that—making adult expressions with her child’s face?

“I could get a ride from Aunt Ginny, or you could drop me off. Claire said she’d help me with my 4-H project if I want to do it with the crias or about llamas.”

“Let’s keep the focus on getting your math homework done and dinner on the table, okay? Besides, we have to get used to not having Aunt Ginny around. You’re losing your chauffeur, kid.”

“Humph.” Sasha turned back to her open math book while Dutch stirred the spaghetti sauce he’d pulled from the freezer.

Dutch recognized her posture, her attitude. It had been Natalie’s whenever she felt she knew more about something than Dutch did.

“Dad!” Sasha’s concentration on her figures had lasted all of ten seconds. “You can sign a permission slip for me to get off the bus at the last stop—it’s at the bottom of Claire’s drive. The bus goes right by it every morning.
And
every afternoon on the way back to the bus depot.”

She wasn’t giving him any wiggle room.

“We’ll talk about it later, Sasha. Besides, Claire’s really busy with the llamas and trying to get her farm up and running.” He frowned. “She didn’t outright invite you, did she?”

“Of
course
she did, Dad.” Sasha’s impatience shone from her eyes. “You know she’d love to have me out there.” Sasha looked down, pouting. “Besides, she was a friend of Mom’s. I like hearing about Mom.”

Crap.

He knew he shouldn’t have brought Sasha after that first visit. It only gave her and Claire time to talk. From the snippets he’d caught, most of the conversation revolved around Natalie as a child.

He sighed and added some basil to the tomato sauce. It wasn’t the conversation that irked him; it was the fact that Sasha had already bonded with Claire. Just like that.

Dutch put down the spoon and covered the pot of sauce. He made sure the flame was as low as he could get it before he slid onto the stool next to Sasha. He turned her toward him and held her hands.

“I know you miss Mom, honey. You realize you can ask me or Aunt Ginny anything you want to about her, right?”

“Of course I do, Dad. But you have to admit, neither you or Aunt Ginny was as close to Mom as Claire was, not when you were little or even my age.”

Dutch looked into eyes as brown as Natalie’s had been. When did his little girl become such a young woman?

“No. You’re right about that.” He’d known Claire forever—hell, they’d started with wooden blocks and had gone through video games, computer games, you name it, together. His interest in Natalie had come later, when it was obvious Claire had her sights set on anything but Dovetail. Or him.

Claire, however, had been part of Natalie’s life forever.

Dutch kissed Sasha’s forehead.

“You can go with me next time, but please promise me that you won’t get your hopes up too much. Claire’s never had her own kids, and she doesn’t have to cater to us, okay?”

“Dad, I’m not going to force you guys to be friends or anything. I get it.” Her posture of maturity almost fooled him.

“Great.” He stood and went back to the spaghetti sauce.

He knew Sasha didn’t
really
get it. Sasha didn’t want him to think she was playing matchmaker, but he saw the warning signs. She had no idea that he and Claire hadn’t needed a matchmaker once upon a time.

His mind’s eye glimpsed an old image. Claire on an azure beach towel, her golden skin covered only by her bright orange bikini.

His hand shook as he dipped the wooden spoon into the sauce, and it wasn’t from hunger. Neither was the perspiration that gathered on the back of his neck.

Claire only knew about the cottage and the history of her farmhouse because she’d grown up in Dovetail. She made a mental note to go to the state archives at some point and make sure she’d gathered all the information available on this property. There was bound to be a good marketing angle in the history.

As she cleaned, moving from wall to wall in the tiny house, she envisioned the shelves where she’d put bins of yarn. The counter with the cash register could go closer to the front door. It wasn’t going to be a huge store, but big enough to draw people in and provide education about llamas and llama fiber. Maybe she’d even have a few alpacas in the next year or two.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. Become an expert on llamas first.” She spoke to the cobwebs her mop collected in a corner.

“Do you always talk to yourself when you work?”

Dutch’s voice carried up to her ears at the same moment she felt his hands on her ankles.

“I was afraid I’d startle you,” he explained.

She took in a deep breath and regarded him from her perch. She clung to the mop so he wouldn’t see her hands shaking. The warmth of his fingers on her ankles provided more than a steadying factor. Bolts of excitement shot up her legs and warmed her belly.

And it was only half past nine in the morning.

“You did—I’m surprised I didn’t hear you with the door open.” She’d left the front door ajar to catch the fresh breeze blowing across the fields.

“You were obviously in another place.” The lines around Dutch’s eyes and mouth deepened. Was that actually a smile on his face? In her presence?

“Here, let me help you down.”

Before she had a chance to do anything else, Dutch grasped her by the waist and lifted her onto the cottage’s wide-planked floor. She looked at him.

“I suppose lifting animals all day makes that easier for you, but you could’ve given yourself a hernia.”

He laughed. Claire maintained her neutral expression, but knew her eyes reflected her chagrin.

“Trust me. I’ve carried calves and crias heavier than you.”

Yeah, right.

She kept the thought to herself. The awareness between them grabbed hold of Claire’s heart and she tried to catch her breath.

“Is something wrong with Nip or Tuck? Or Stormy?”

“Hmm?” Dutch was staring at her face and, more pointedly, her lips.

She took a step back. Dutch got the hint and the light in his eyes dimmed. He was back to business.

“The llamas—are they okay?” She repeated her query as a way of creating space between them.

“I haven’t checked them since this morning, but I’m sure they’re fine. I think it’s safe to say we can go to once-a-day, even every-other-day, checks.”

Relief and gratitude lifted the invisible weight from Claire’s shoulders. “They’re doing that well?”

“Yes, they are.”

“I can never thank you enough for all you’ve done, Dutch. If you’d come a few minutes later…”

“But I didn’t, and you were there, doing whatever you could. It’s my job, Claire.” He brushed off her thanks. He was in a better mood than she’d seen since moving back, and certainly since he’d been tending to the llamas.

“Is that why you came in here, to tell me the llamas don’t need as much vet care?”

“No, actually, I have a favor to ask.”

This was interesting. Dutch, asking
her
for a favor?

“Okay. Shoot.” She leaned the mop against the wall and shoved her hands in her jeans pockets.

“Sasha really wants to spend more time out here with the llamas.”

“With the llamas?”

“Yes, and well…with you.” His reluctance hurt a little.

“That’s perfectly fine, Dutch. You don’t need to ask me as a favor—it’s my honor to spend time with Natalie’s daughter. And yours.” She hastily added that when she realized how sharp her reply sounded.

Dutch held up a hand.

“It’s not just about the llamas, Claire.” Dutch looked somewhere past her shoulder, then back into her eyes. His discomfort was palpable. “Sasha’s thrilled that you knew Natalie so well as a kid. Let’s face it, I didn’t really come into Natalie’s life—except as a friend—until the end of high school.”

Claire prided herself on not wincing. “And?”

Dutch cast her a bemused expression. “You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He grimaced. “Hell, why should you?”

He ran his hand across the back of his neck. “As much as I have my reservations about all of this, I realize it’s a good thing for Sasha to have relationships with other adults. For her to trust an adult other than family. And you
did
know Natalie at her age, so you can fill in a lot of details for her.”

“Dutch, Sasha is welcome here anytime. You don’t have to ask me about it again. You and I—” Her breath caught on the last word, then she cleared her throat. “You and I don’t need to rehash the past or even talk to each other very much. You can drop her off, or I’ll come and get her, and we can hang out here. She already told me the last time you were both here that she’s interested in doing her 4-H project with the llamas.”

Dutch’s face was relaxed again.

“Thanks for understanding.” Although his voice was gruff she sensed he was sincere.

“Sasha said she can get off the bus near your place, if that’s okay with you. I’ll pick her up an hour or so later. I’m thinking maybe once a week.” He was hesitant, as if he was asking her for a date.

“By the way, this is entirely Sasha’s idea, Claire.”

“And you do anything you can for your daughter.” She looked at his lips as she spoke. They were tightly pressed together.

“This is for Sasha,” he muttered.

“I get it, Dutch. Don’t worry, you haven’t given me the wrong impression.” He’d never let up on reminding her of his distrust.

She took a deep breath and raised her chin. She met his gaze and kept her voice steady. “Why don’t we decide on two days a week so it’s a regular part of her schedule? If you’re tied up with work, I’ll run her home or she can wait for you here. I rarely go out in the evenings.”

Darn it! Not something she wanted Dutch to know. The last thing she needed was for him to think she was pining away for lack of a love life.

You
don’t
have a love life.

“And if I have an evening date I can let you know ahead of time.” There. Let him chew on that.

“I’m sure you will.” Dutch looked as if he was going to turn away, but he paused. “Claire, I want it clear between you and me that there
is
no ‘you and me.’ I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lead Sasha to assume anything different.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks.

What the heck had she thought, making that comment about a “date”? She sounded as though she was out on the prowl. Way to reinforce Dutch’s low opinion of her morals.

“That’s all in the past, Dutch.”

“Yes, but Sasha doesn’t know you as anyone other than her mother’s childhood friend. She doesn’t need to know any more. Nor do I want her to get any silly ideas that’ll only break her heart later on.”

“I got it,” she said again.

With that he pivoted and walked out of the cottage.

Claire wanted to throw the mop at him. Or better yet, the bucket of soapy water. Typical Dutch—come in all charming and then leave her feeling like a complete loser.

She grabbed the mop and went back to her cleaning. If she focused on her desire to make amends to Natalie for abandoning their friendship, she’d be fine. She’d be here for Sasha, regardless of her relationship with Dutch.

The problem was that whenever Dutch was around she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Her hands itched to touch him. And a few minutes earlier she’d thought he was going to kiss her. And she would’ve kissed him back—hard.

Don’t lose sight of your goal.
She’d finally rebuilt her reputation in Dovetail and even Dutch would acknowledge that she ran a decent llama farm.

A romance with him was not a possibility.